


John Watson and His Feels

by LelianaVance (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: A peek into John Watson's life, Everything Hurts, Flash Fic, Flash Fiction, Hurt John Watson, Hurts So Good, Jim Moriarty - Freeform, John Watson POV, John Watson's Blog, John's feels, Johnlock - Freeform, Lonely John, M/M, One-Shot, Pain, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Reichenbach-Related, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock's Coat, Sherlock's Scarf - Freeform, Sherlock's cheekbones - Freeform, mary morstan - Freeform, one and done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LelianaVance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's lost after Sherlock's death, a mere mannequin intent on walking his life away. He tries to forget, to put his mind on anything else but in every surface his eyes land upon he only sees Cheekbones and Blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Watson and His Feels

He had walked the broad streets of London non-stop since he had watched the man who had saved him fall. His footfalls were slow, unremembered, without thought and uncaring. John Watson walked along Baker Street like a disused, un-oiled automaton. The weather was on Jim Moriarty’s side; blazing, boiling and altogether uncomfortably warm. Smiles, scooters and schoolchildren passed him by. The smell of bubble-gum, Lynx and hairspray left in their wake. 

The walks were getting longer. When they had begun, they had just been debilitating ten minute spurts. Stabs of pain, heart-wrench, rather than heart-burn. Now, they were two, maybe three, hours long. John couldn’t remember half of what he saw on these monotonous rambles, every reflective surface showing angular cheekbones and too much blood. Today, he did look up and take stock of his surroundings. His eyes falling upon the red that was Speedy’s. John didn’t make it any further that day. The unhealed wound tearing asunder once more. John never again found himself back on Baker Street. 

Mary stepped into his life sometime later. A blond ghost who, inch by inch, pulled him gently away from a black spectre. The walks slowly fell away due to her presence and the injury room called him back. The army doctor dropped the blogging, resumed the doctoring.

The Blog, however, never truly went unread, never ceased to be. The counter skyrocketed after Sherlock’s death, continued to soar after, still was steady. The people it seemed, like John Watson, were unwilling to forget.

Mary was John’s cushion, his soft embrace in a world that just seemed to have a whole running right through it. She tried her best to fill it – may have even filled the minutest of fissures – but she would always be his rebound. The one he would never have met if not for Sherlock’s death, the one that would have passed him in the street and not even shared a glance. John would have kept on going, kept on running hand-in-hand into danger with the Coat, Scarf and Cheekbones until the end of time. Sad as it was, Mary was, and always will be, a placeholder. 

The walks may have ended. But the tears- they never stopped…


End file.
